From Checkpoint 1, we walked up the miners’ road beside the upper lake. We passed multiple scout troupes coming the other way, down the mountain. They were walking in the dark as they had no torches. We could see lights floating around on the lake from people in canoes. Some people do very strange things for fun, I thought, as I was hiked through the night in the rain in the winter with bats painted on my face.

Two large green floodlights lit up the old miner village at the end of the upper lake. It was very atmospheric. They did a really good job with this, I thought to myself. I wished I had enough imagination to come up with such a creative idea: two huge green lamps to light the walkers’ path. As we climbed the hill I realised I was jealous of the creativity and turned to look back at the green lamps shining up from the valley below. They were like giant eyes in the night, I realise, like a big green-eyed monster…

At the top of the valley, we crossed the bridge and moved towards the top of the Spink on the wired boardwalks made from old railway sleepers. These boardwalks are a great solution for walkers on the boggy ground around the Wicklow hills. They protect the soft ground from walkers’ boots and protect walkers’ boots from the nasty sucking smelly mud. Be warned, they’re as slippery as Teflon soap when icy.

Apart from the size, the only difference between Gazza’s jacket and The Grocer’s, was that the Grocer had a bottle of whiskey in his. He refused to open it until we reached the top of the hill. At the top of the Spink, the boardwalks ended and we were sent climbing through the mud up another hill. We were spurred on by the promise of a free bag of crisps at the top. That was a tough hill. We urged each other on. To make it up, we had to be tough and ruthless. Requests for rests were refused. Calls for a stop were ignore. We were intent on the crisps and the crisps. When we got to the top, there were no crisps. There wasn’t even any whiskey. We just kept walking. I little while later, I fell on my arse.

It was no more than I deserved after refusing to stop going up the hill. From the top, the muddy path leads back down the hill to Checkpoint 2. A guide rope helped people climb down without falling. I held tight to the rope. I still fell on my arse. My bum was a little damp and very muddy, but that’s why I wear black pants. Important hiking tip: if you’re going to fall in the mud, wear dark colours.

We passed a big yellow waterproof bag on the way down the hill. It was labelled “Van Party Pack 2”, which sounded very promising. Unfortunately my arse was too sore for me to make use of the emergency party solution.

There were more grateful volunteers and more muffins waiting for us at Checkpoint 2. We shared chunky mint Kit Kats (they were minty), salted peanuts (they were salty) and a few swigs from the Grocer’s naggin of whiskey (it was peaty and smoky and delicious, it warmed my belly and my toes).

As we rested at Checkpoint 2, I met some friends of a friend. They had a dog. I wished I had a dog. With our secret aliases and adventurous demeanour, if our team only had a dog, we’d be able to fight crime, solve mysteries and discover lost treasure and hidden booty. But we have no dog, so we’re left swigging whiskey and falling on our booties*.

*my booty, specifically